


For the future of the Mark

by uniabocetaP



Series: Tales of War [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle, Battlefield, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Fords of Isen, Gen, I am not sure is the major character death applies but be warned, Leadership, Rohan, War, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniabocetaP/pseuds/uniabocetaP
Summary: At last, Theodred faces their enemy in battle.





	1. Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Fords of Isen, 3019TA
> 
> Theodred ponders on why to fight before the Battle.

Fords of Isen, TA 3019 

The night had been silent. All that Theodred could listen was the slow song of the river. Isen was full with water, icy cold and fast as the wind. It had been raining heavily the last days, but the last hour. Mud was not ideal ground for a possible battle; the horses move slower. But dawn was almost upon them, and there was a chance they would face the army of the White Wizard with the sun on their back. 

The Prince's army was moving around him, preparing for the fight. They did not have another option, Saruman had seen to it. He had preyed on his people for far too long. It was time that this travesty came to an end. His father might have fallen under false counsel, but Theodred could see who was behind all the pain and suffering. Some of his scouts had brought back evidence of the wizard's treachery. His Uruk-hai were not afraid to wear his colour any more; a white hand for a white wizard.

He would take revenge for all the children that were slaughtered. Fight, was the only answer. How could he possible let everyone to a safer future? Would he let all his legacy be burned fields and destroyed homes? He was one of those few at court who still believed that fight was better than flight. Erkebrand was with him, and so was Éomer. They were at his side, but too many had sided with Grima. The sneaky man tried to convince them that nothing was amiss in their times, that the relationship with the White Wizard was impeccable. He would have them welcome the Orcs and give the enemy armies maps to the Rohirric cities, free pass to kill and rape as they wish. He would have them all turn to flight in front of the truth. 

No, this was the only choice. They had the higher ground, they had the best opportunity to defeat their enemy. Still, the Prince of the Mark could see too many young faces around him, too many men that had dreams and families to return to. He knew that at the end of the day, not all of them will be dining with the living. 

Sadness gripped his heart and he wished things were different. He wished his father was not sick, that their neighbours were not their foes, that the sun was shining and the men were laughing. Someone has to fight for men not to be sick, for not having foes, for the men to laugh. Some people have to sacrifice themselves for the rest to be merry and safe.

We cannot all flight, it is our duty to fight. And fight we will. 

The Prince of Ridermark ordered the men of his army to cross the river and attack the enemy forces. The day would belong to them, they would come victorious out of this battle.


	2. Bloody thu art, bloody thu end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theodred falls off his horse.

Theodred fell from his horse.

His hand was heavy. How many were there to slay? Had they not killed enough? His tired soul and eyes counted millions of them; how many had Isegard unleashed on them to die?

The bloody wizard would pay for what he did in their lands. For the suffering, pain and destruction. The pain and the tears. If only he had enough strength to go on.

Just another enemy. One more. And then another. For father, for Eomer. For Eowyn. One more for the children. That was what he kept telling himself as he killed the next Orc. And the next one, and the one after that. His shield was broken, his shirt bloody and his sword blunt. Red was the only colour he could only see, the white horse struggled not to get drown under a sea of blood. 

He led his men with fury, ahead and around, a bit back to lash out again, as if they were a cornered snake. Again and again and again.

A piercing pain on his chest. Where did this arrow come from? Was it now, before or yesterday? Time had lost its meaning. Theodred broke the tip and threw it aside. Once again the rhythm of the deathly dance set upon him. He did this for land, his people, his father, his cousins, his sweetheart. So they could have a future.

The sun reached the horizon. He felt cold and weary. Why was he so tired? It wasn't the first time he was in battle. He wanted to sleep, to forget. 

The Prince fell off his horse.

He had to get up, he couldn't give up. Not just yet, not till each and everyone of them was gone from the face of Earth. He tried to pull himself up, but it was harder that he expected.

Theodred wished he didn't feel so weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter is to be up. Comments are welcome!


	3. There was a strangeness in the horn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eowyn welcomes her brother back.

**Edoras, TA 3019**

The day was a typical February day; sunny but cold and windy. The Golden Hall was a cold and grim palace, fitting to the weather. It had not always been that way, Éowyn could remember many winters when the fire would roar lively and she would prank her brother and then steal sweet pies from the kitchen. However since the King had fallen sick and the troubles at their borders grew bigger, the Hall had been cold and unwelcoming despite Éowyn's efforts.

The young lady started her day as she always did. The usual chores kept her busy; making sure that a Hall as big as Meduseld is run properly required a lot of work. She never complained, she had to fulfil her duty to the House of Eorl, even though she had the dullest and loniest one. Both her brother and cousin were away, fighting off the enemies of the Mark. The same enemies, who Wormtongue tried so hard to convince them not to worry about. Éomer and Theodred were amongst the few, who did not believed him, which made their job more difficult than it should be.

The thought of her brother and cousin usually brought happiness in her heart, one of the few things that accomplished it those dark days. However today, every time someone mentioned their names, every time a thought about them crossed her mind, an invisible hand would grip her heart.

_An omen,_ she thought, _I hope they are safe_.

She tried to calm herself, to reason that if anything had happened to them she would have already heard. Not that it was very likely that they were gravelly wounded; they were the best fighters Ridermark had and that made her proud and jealous at the same time.

It was lunch time when she came face to face with Grima. Something about that man made the young lady shiver with a mix of fear, pity and disgust. Every time he spoke to her, it felt as if snakes slithered inside her. Each time, his words lingered, poisoning her dreams and soul. Now, Éowyn could see that he had spotted her and immediately turned around, past the long rows of knights, riders and members of her household enjoying a midday meal and she exited the hall. The cold wind welcomed her, making her shiver in her long green gown, but a frost bite was preferable to the company of that man. She decided to stay there for a while instead of risking facing Wormtongue.

The wind brought to her the voice of Edoras. Happy chattering and angry arguments reached her ears. It was the weekly market of the town, which never failed to liven the city up. She was planning to visit it after lunch, she might be lucky and find some new spices brought from Dol Amroth. Travelers were rarer nowadays than a couple of years ago, as the shadows of the East had grown longer over them all.

Suddenly, a horn echoed through the valley. A rare warm smile curved the maiden's lips. The horn belonged to the Third Marshal of Ridermark; her brother was finally back. Her initial happiness was disturbed by a weird thought. The horn sounded as if it was sad, as if something was not as it should be.

_Do not be silly,_ she chastised herself, _horns always sound the same. You are in a weird mood today that is all. _

She knew her brother was alive and safe, that no harm have come to him; who else would dare to sound his horn without him? Nevertheless, a dark thought formed in her mind, taking a malformed shape of agony and doom. She waited anxiously at the top of the hill for his arrival, trying to calm herself.

Éowyn followed with her eyes her brother's ascend to the top of the Hill as soon as she could spot him. She was completely frozen, inside and outside. The cold wind was turning her limbs into ice, but what turned her cold as a stone was the realisation that the town was falling silent at Éomer's pass. Not being able to withstand the silent agony anymore, she run down to greet him at the bottom of Meduseld's stairs.

At the sight of her brother, Éowyn felt relieved. He looked healthy and unharmed; the rumours of a brutal battle that had reached them were true, if she were to judge by the state of his men. However, what caught her eye, was his expression. Éomer was not known for being a cheerful man, but his sister could tell that something was terribly wrong. He looked like he had lost some part of himself; he looked as if he had cried.

"Éomer…" she asked without asking: _What is wrong? _ Instead for an answer, Éomer hugged her. She got scared. When she pulled out of his embrace she noticed one thing she had missed from her balcony. There was a small carriage pulled close behind him. The men driving the carriage could have had faces made out of stone, the guards looked close to tears. The carriage was covered with a green flag adorned with a white horse.

The lady run over to the cart, while everyone opened up a path for her. No one tried to stop her, all bowed their heads. When she looked under the flag she felt as if she had forgot how to breathe. Theodred was there, his face ashen, but calm. Her cousin, who she had loved as a brother, was dead. 

"My lady…" someone called her, but she did not listen to what he said, all she could think was the first time Theodred had helped her steal sweets from the kitchen. The old cook had started chasing them, waving his big wooden spoon over his head, staining the walls with soup. Theodred had lifted her up and carried her outside; easier to make their escape if he carried the toddler. When they made their escape, they went at the stables and shared them between themselves. Sometimes, they would go to the same spot to eat sweets when they were older.

"He had a heroic death", her brother answered his sister loud enough so that everyone around them would benefit from his reassurance, his glorious proclamation, by the thought that Theodred was a hero, their hero. However, Éowyn could only think that she would never share sweets with her cousin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. I hope you liked it, please leave a review :D


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